


Snapshots

by Mythologuy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, Fantasy, How Do I Tag, Light Angst, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:48:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythologuy/pseuds/Mythologuy
Summary: George was an adult scraping by as he made a living with photography; though he soon understood why people say not to make the things you love into your job. But maybe the brit bit off more than he could chew when he found himself falling into a portal, entering a world where dragons danced in the skies and fairies whispered in your ears. A world where humans do not exist. (Inspo: @justvol on tiktok)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 4





	Snapshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gogy is bad at sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.”  
> -Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities  
> Aghh I hope you guys like this! This quote will become more important later but I just wanted to put it here as brain food ;))

George was an adult scraping by as he made a living with photography; though he soon understood why people say not to make the things you love into your job. But maybe the brit bit off more than he could chew when he found himself falling into a portal, entering a world where dragons danced in the skies and fairies whispered in your ears. A world where humans do not exist. (Inspo: @justvol on TikTok)  
By Mythologuy on ao3  
(That's me!!)

Pale jets of moonlight leaked through a set of gapped blinds to gently spread over sleep-rustled sheets and sprawled limbs that jutted out of a mass of worn blankets to escape restless heat. A head of tousled brown hair tipped over a previously folded blanket that was subbing in for the pillow that had been set out to dry after its first wash in a year or so.   
The boy who laid haphazardly on his creaking bed began to stir at the blue moonbeam that decided to rest rudely over the bridge of his nose and shined bright in his eyes. His face scrunched in concentration as he worked to fall back to sleep. Eventually, he let out a defeated groan when his brain officially sputtered out of the dreamless sleep he’d been enjoying and back into gritty consciousness. 

His body had apparently decided against waking up properly like the rest of him, so he laid on his back and stared blankly at the low ceiling his crappy apartment offered. He surveyed his room from his bed, eyes drawn to the areas illuminated by the moonbeams, which he had grudgingly decided were quite beautiful. His eyes drifted over the pictures he’d taken over the years, ones that used to bring him pride when he looked up from his bed in the morning, like the image he had timed perfectly, zoomed in on a small hummingbird as it drank from a tunneled flower. The camera had captured its small wings so clearly that one could see each crystalline feather in detail. There were also ones he had kept up because they were simply too golden not to display. A blurrily shot image of his best childhood friend going all out to the bubbly intro of some anime he had been obsessed with at the time, and one picture of his face grinning at the camera while some kids at a party made out behind him- which had brought him to tears of laughter after he sobered up to a full camera roll- were some of his favorites. 

His lips shifted into a sleepy smile at the fond memories, but when he rolled over and was reminded of the piles of bills and poorly developed photos that littered his floor, the smile faded. All he wanted to do was photograph something beautiful, but these days it was becoming harder and harder to find something that tore at his mind in the way that he longed for. He wished for some cruel beauty that took the viewer’s breath away. He had lost his spark, it seemed. Maybe, he thought, he could take a few snaps of the moonbeams. 

They were a melancholic sight, and made him feel sort of sad, but he liked how they looked against his crumpled sheets. The stark, straight lines formed by his blinds looked so smooth and bright in comparison to the hoveled setting of his room. He reached over to his bedstand (usually reserved for his unplugged alarm clock and his camera, now littered by several cups which he planned on bringing back to his cupboards, at some point.) He carefully picked up his camera and unplugged its battery pack from where it had been charging, booting up the familiar equipment and switching it to the aperture setting. This would blur out the background and make sure that the wrinkles in the bedsheets were clear, hopefully enough to portray the lonely feeling the moonbeams set in his chest. He snapped a few photos from different angles, deciding that he would edit them in the morning, or whenever he had the energy. He would decide if he was satisfied with the outcome then.

He began to feel sleep beckon to him, heavy on his shoulders. Perhaps he had woken up and simply needed to let something off of his chest that he hadn’t realized he’d been hiding. He couldn’t pin why, but he felt better than when he had woken up, as if he’d just had a good cry. He checked his phone out of instinct, four fifty-four in the morning. He breathed out and decided he’d let the soft hands of sleep drag him under for a few hours before he returned to his dull life.

...

A soft blue sky began to fabricate around him, filled with wispy clouds set to pink by a blazing star that appeared at the edge of a blurred horizon. George’s vision was blurred at the edges and wherever he looked seemed to warp in a dome. Across the field of golden wheat he found himself standing in, a figure clad in leather and cloaked in green stared at him with an inhumane smile.

The brunette stumbled forwards to get a closer look, and he realized the character was- rather than being ridiculously pale- wearing a mask of some sort. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and found himself positioned directly in front of the figure- a man, he guessed. He tilted his head up to get a proper look at the mask he wore.

It displayed a sloppily painted smile, the eyes were slightly lopsided and the mouth was a crooked one. The figure had golden blond hair braided down his side that caught the sunlight as he shifted awkwardly at the silent encounter. George was curious at what the strange man could be hiding behind the mask, so he reached around the person’s head, under his hood, and unlatched the mask that was blocking his vision. The man grabbed his arm with a gloved hand as the mask slipped to reveal a pair of green eyes. George's breath was gone. They were pools lined with emerald and flecked golden by the sun's glare. In seconds, reality began to crumble and twist out of view, leaving him stuck in those eyes for only a moment longer before they were torn away by cruel consciousness. 

George woke to late-morning sunbeams peeking into his blinds, replacements for the cool moonbeams that visited him the night before. His mind was still stuck on the shimmering green eyes he’d barely gotten a glimpse at. The image was faded now, but he craved the sight once more. What a pretty picture that one could have been, only to have come from a short dream of an alternate world. He was pissed at the universe over it. 

He flushed at the remembrance of the firm hand that gripped his arm before the dream slipped away. He’d probably fall for the character if it were in a movie or book, a masked hero or tragic assassin, with pleats of gold and eyes of emerald. He couldn’t believe he was fangirling over some random dream. This was ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm anyways, go follow @justvol over on tiktok right now their art is amazing and they're so cool!!


End file.
